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Major Vigoureux, a novel by Arthur Thomas Quiller-Couch |
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Chapter 8. A Brief Revenge |
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_ CHAPTER VIII. A BRIEF REVENGE
Vashti nodded demurely. "I think you might have told me," she said in a tone of mild reproach. "But--my dear young lady----" "Thank you--" "Hey?" "--for calling me young." She reached out a hand, and, taking the lantern from him, held it high so that the beams fell on her face. "It is many years since our first meeting, and unhappily we have the date of it fixed. Give me credit that I reminded you; for I don't mind confessing that, though it hasn't come to a quarrel yet, my looking-glass and I are not the friends we were." Here, had the Commandant been a readier man, he might have answered with a compliment, and a truthful one. For indeed it was a very beautiful face that the lantern showed him, and--here was the strange part of the business--it had been growing younger since she stepped off the ship, and somehow it must have contrived, in spite of the darkness, to convey a hint of its rejuvenescence, for the word "young" had slipped from him quite involuntarily. But, after all, there is nothing so subtle as simplicity, and, after all, the Commandant managed to imply that she must be a witch. "Then, my dear young lady," he replied, "since you have spirited these females into my quarters, I can only ask you to go and spirit them away again." She shook her head. "What! You won't?... Very well, then, I must deal with them, while you go off with the lantern and search for Mrs. Treacher." "You are a brave man," said she; "and--and I think--by the look of them--you are going to have great fun." The Commandant stood for a moment rubbing his chin and staring after the lantern, as it vanished in the fog. With a shake of the shoulders he pulled himself together, marched into the Barracks, and boldly opened the door. "Miss Gabriel!" "Major Vigoureux!" "Certainly, ma'am--these being my own quarters, unless--" He paused and gazed around, as if to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving him. "Yes, yes--and at this time of night. As I was just saying to Charlotte here, 'Think what a terrible construction one might put on it!'" The Commandant lifted his eyebrows. ("I behaved like a brute," he confessed afterwards, "but the woman, a few hours before, had shown no mercy to me.") "Indeed, ma'am?" said he. "A construction? Then you must invent one for me, please, since I can think of none." "We have had the most terrible experience, sir--the most terrible fright! You have seen Mrs. Treacher?" "Has anything happened to Mrs. Treacher?" "No--but it all came about through the fog----" "--and my husband deserting me," put in Mrs. Pope. The Commandant passed a hand across his brow. The gesture seemed to express perplexity; in truth it covered amusement and a kind of fearful joy in his newly-found talent for dissimulation. "My dear Mrs. Pope," he answered, his voice faltering a little, "You don't mean to tell me that your excellent husband----" "Of course she doesn't," snapped Miss Gabriel. "She means to say that the gentlemen were escorting us home, but, meeting the coastguard with the news of this terrible wreck----" "A wreck, ma'am?" "Why, God bless the man! Don't you know? Haven't you heard the guns going?... But of course you have. Mrs. Treacher told me you were down helping with the boats--you and her husband and Archelaus, though what help you three supposed yourselves capable of giving," wound up Miss Gabriel, reverting for a moment to her customary manner, "I don't pretend to guess." "As for that," the Commandant answered gravely, "I am happy to tell you there has been no wreck. True, a vessel in distress--a large liner--had found herself among the Hell-deeps, of all abominably awkward places. But by the mercy of Heaven she managed to extricate herself, and has dropped anchor, not half an hour ago, in the Roads." Miss Gabriel stared. "The Hell-deeps ... and at anchor in the Roads?" she repeated stupidly. "Oh, will someone kindly tell me whether I am standing on my head or my heels! A large liner?--the thing's impossible! And in a fog that thick you couldn't see your hand before your face!" "Are you quite sure, ladies," asked the Commandant, still gravely, "that you are not exaggerating the thickness of the fog, somewhat?" "What?" Miss Gabriel took him up, like an echo. "When we started for home and found we were half-way up Garrison Hill, and all the time convinced we were at Old Town, in the churchyard!" The Commandant shook his head; and it must be conceded that he had some excuse. "But why in the churchyard?" he asked, gently. "Because of the bell. If it comes to that"--Miss Gabriel threw herself desperately on the offensive--"how do you account for the woman we saw here, just now?" "I beg your pardon? A--a woman, did you say?" (Oh, Major Vigoureux!) "Yes, sir--a woman; a bedizened woman." "My dear Elizabeth," pleaded Mrs. Pope feebly, "are we quite sure that we saw her?--that it wasn't a--a sort of mistake? It certainly seemed--for a moment---- But really, you know, there is no one in the Islands----" "My dear Charlotte, didn't we see her with our own eyes?" Mrs. Pope sighed. "It seems to me I have seen such a number of things--of incredible things--to-night." "You are sure it wasn't Mrs. Treacher?" suggested the Commandant, wickedly. "Mrs. Treacher! Mrs. Trea---- Does Mrs. Treacher go about in silks and furs and low bodices with a thousand pounds' worth of diamonds on her abandoned neck?" "Certainly not to my knowledge. But," said the Commandant, turning, as the door opened, "you had better ask her for yourself." Now, it may be that Mrs. Treacher had also allowed Vashti to bewitch her. At any rate, she cordially hated Miss Gabriel, and she took, then and there, what she herself called afterwards, a strong line. "What are they wanting to know now?" she demanded, addressing the Commandant. "Miss Gabriel wants to know"--he answered, in a husky voice, while he pretended to trim the lamp--"if you go about in silks and furs." "No, I don't," replied Mrs. Treacher, setting down the bottle of gin. "And what's more, I don't go a-sheevoing it around Garrison Hill in the small hours, and a-holding on to railings, and a-clammering for strong drink." "That will do, Mrs. Treacher," interposed her master, suddenly reduced to contrition at the sight of Miss Gabriel, who stood speechless, opening and shutting her mouth like a fish. "The ladies have lost their way in the fog, and were, on the whole, extremely fortunate to reach here without accident. They will agree, I daresay, that the sooner I escort them home the better. Fetch me a lantern, if you please." "It--it is extremely good of you," stammered Miss Gabriel. "My dear madam!" he protested, with a good-natured smile. Miss Gabriel did not respond to it. But, though bitterly angry, for the moment she was cowed, and she made no further reference to the mysterious lady. She declined the Commandant's arm. Mrs. Pope, however, took it almost eagerly, and on the way down the hill he obtained from her a voluble if somewhat incoherent account of the night's adventures. He did his best now to make light of them. Accidents even more extraordinary had happened in fogs before now. He related how two companies of the Naval Brigade, under Sevastopol, had come within an ace of firing on each other.... He told of the _Milo_, and her wonderful escape, but said nothing of Vashti. In the midst of his narrative he found himself wondering what answer he could make if they questioned him again upon the apparition. But neither Mrs. Pope nor Miss Gabriel made further allusion to it. Their silence, for which at first he was merely thankful, began to puzzle him after a while. Could it be possible that he, too, had been cheated by an apparition? He took leave of the ladies at their respective gates, retiring delicately as soon as, waiting in the road, he had assured himself that they were within doors. Miss Gabriel admitted herself with a latch-key. Mrs. Pope's timid knock was answered by her astonished husband, who, having just returned from the harbour, and assuming his spouse to be long since in bed and asleep, had lit a candle to explore the dining-room cellaret. The front door was shut on their reciprocal surprise, and the Commandant withdrew. He had sighed, before now, as he had shut Mr. and Mrs. Pope's front gate after an evening's whist. Doubtless they were a stupid couple. * * * * * A light shone from the Barracks--from the office window to the right of the door. Within the office Vashti had dragged the sofa across the room and sat, with her fur cloak thrown back, toasting her shoes before a warm fire. In the dancing flame of it her diamonds sparkled as she turned to him. "Mrs. Treacher is upstairs," she said, "hunting out sheets to air for me. Now fill your pipe, please, and sit down and tell me all about it." Major Vigoureux found an old pipe on the mantel-shelf, dived in the tobacco jar for a few dry crumbs, filled, and lit and stamped out a spark that had dropped on the hearth-rug. "It isn't a creditable story," said he, puffing slowly, and blinking at the flash of jewels below her white throat. "In fact, I behaved like a brute." "Tell me about it," she repeated. So he told her; and found himself smoking and watching her, while she laughed softly, leaning forward to the fire, and gazing into the heart of it. _ |
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